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r them neither with his own look nor with words。 He was at everyone's mercy。 People talked about him inside and outside the hospital （it was a time when news about who betrayed； who denounced； and who collaborated spread through nervous Prague with the uncanny speed of a bush telegraph）； although he knew about it； he could do nothing to stop it。 He was surprised at how unbearable he found it； how panic…stricken it made him feel。 The interest they showed in him was as unpleasant as an elbowing crowd or the pawings of the people who tear our clothes off in nightmares。
He went to the chief surgeon and told him he would not write a word。
The chief surgeon shook his hand with greater energy than usual and said that he had anticipated Tomas's decision。
Perhaps you can find a way to keep me on even without a statement； said Tomas； trying to hint that a threat by all his colleagues to resign upon his dismissal would suffice。
But his colleagues never dreamed of threatening to resign； and so before long （the chief surgeon shook his hand even more energetically than the previous time—it was black and blue for days）； he was forced to leave the hospital。
5
First he went to work in a country clinic about fifty miles from Prague。 He commuted daily by train and came home exhausted。 A year later； he managed to find a more advantageous but much inferior position at a clinic on the outskirts of Prague。 There； he could no longer practice surgery； and became a general practitioner。 The waiting room was jammed； and he had scarcely five minutes for each patient； he told them how much aspirin to take； signed their sick…leave documents； and referred them to specialists。 He considered himself more civil servant than doctor。
One day； at the end of office hours； he was visited by a man of about fifty whose portliness added to his dignity。 He introduced himself as representing the Ministry of the Interior； and invited Tomas to join him for a drink across the street。
He ordered a bottle of wine。 I have to drive home； said Tomas by way of refusal。 I'll lose my license if they find I've been drinking。 The man from the Ministry of the Interior smiled。 If anything happens； just show them this。 And he handed Tomas a card engraved with his name （though clearly not his real name） and the telephone number of the Ministry。
He then went into a long speech about how much he admired Tomas and how the whole Ministry was distressed at the thought of so respected a surgeon dispensing aspirin at an outlying clinic。 He gave Tomas to understand that although he couldn't come out and say it； the police did not agree with drastic tactics like removing specialists from their posts。
Since no one had thought to praise Tomas in quite some time； he listened to the plump official very carefully； and he was surprised by the precision and detail of the man's knowledge of his professional career。 How defenseless we are in the face of flattery！ Tomas was unable to prevent himself from taking seriously what the Ministry official said。
But it was not out of mere vanity。 More important was Tomas's lack of experience。 When you sit face to face with someone who is pleasant； respectful； and polite； you have a hard time reminding yourself that nothing he says is true； that nothing is sincere。 Maintaining nonbelief （constantly； systematically； without the slightest vacillation） requires a tremendous effort and the proper training—in other words； frequent police interrogations。 Tomas lacked that training。
The man from the Ministry went on： We know you had an excellent position in Zurich； and we very much appreciate your having returned。 It was a noble deed。 You realized your place was here。 And then he added； as if scolding Tomas for something； But your place is at the operating table； too！
I couldn't agree more； said Tomas。
There was a short pause； after which the man from the Ministry said in mournful tones； Then tell me； Doctor； do you really think that Communists should put out their eyes？ You； who have given so many people the gift of health？
But that's preposterous！ Tomas cried in self…defense。 Why don't you read what I wrote？
I have read it； said the man from the Ministry in a voice that was meant to sound very sad。
Well； did I write that Communists ought to put out their eyes？
That's how everyone understood it； said the man from the Ministry； his voice growing sadder and sadder。
If you'd read the complete version； the way I wrote it originally； you wouldn't have read that into it。 The published version was slightly cut。
What was that？ asked the man from the Ministry； pricking up his ears。 You mean they didn't publish it the way you wrote it？
They cut it。
A lot？
By about a third。
The man from the Ministry appeared sincerely shocked。 That was very improper of them。
Tomas shrugged his shoulders。
You should have protested！ Demanded they set the record straight immediately！
The Russians came before I had time to think about it。 We all had other things to think about then。
But you don't want people to think that you； a doctor； wanted to deprive human beings of their right to see！
Try to understand； will you？ It was a letter to the editor； buried in the back pages。 No one even noticed it。 No one but the Russian embassy staff； because it's what they look for。
Don't say that！ Don't think that！ I myself have talked to many people who read your article and were amazed you could have written it。 But now that you tell me it didn't come out the way you wrote it； a lot of things fall into place。 Did they put you up to it？
To writing it？ No。 I submitted it on my own。
Do you know the people there？
What people？
The people who published your article。
No。
You mean you never spoke to them？
They asked me to come in once in person。
Why？
About the article。
And who was it you talked to？
One of the editors。
What was his name？
Not until that point did Tomas realize that he was under interrogation。 All at once he saw that his every word could put someone in danger。 Although he obviously knew the name of the editor in question； he denied it： I'm not sure。
Now； now； said the man in a voice dripping with indignation over Tomas's insincerity； you can't tell me he didn't introduce himself！
It is a tragicomic fact that our proper upbringing has become an ally of the secret police。 We do not know how to lie。 The Tell the truth！ imperative drummed into us by our mamas and papas functions so automatically that we feel ashamed of lying even to a secret policeman during an interrogation。 It is simpler for us to argue with him or insult him （which makes no sense whatever） than to lie to his face （which is the only thing to do）。
When the man from the Ministry accused him of insincerity； Tomas nearly felt guilty； he had to surmount a moral barrier to be able to persevere in his lie： I suppose he did introduce himself； he said； but because his name didn't ring a bell； I immediately forgot it。
What did he look like？
The editor who had dealt with him was a short man with a light brown crew cut。 Tomas tried to choose diametrically opposed characteristics： He was tall； he said； and had long black hair。
Aha； said the man from the Ministry； and a big chin！